


Morning Light

by apostatequeen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3645864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostatequeen/pseuds/apostatequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reyna wakes up slowly, pleasantly aching and surprisingly warm. Eyes fluttering against the light, she’s met by a wash of gold, amber, honey, and the flash of white that is Alistair’s (sheepish and utterly charming) grin in the morning light. He’s tucked underneath her blankets with her, on their sides facing one another, which explains the warmth. He clears his throat quietly, a flush mottling his cheeks as he glances away, “I, ah, wasn’t sure if you wanted me to leave, or…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Light

Reyna wakes up slowly, pleasantly aching and surprisingly warm. Eyes fluttering against the light, she’s met by a wash of gold, amber, honey, and the flash of white that is Alistair’s (sheepish and utterly charming) grin in the morning light. He’s tucked underneath her blankets with her, on their sides facing one another, which explains the warmth. He clears his throat quietly, a flush mottling his cheeks as he glances away, “I, ah, wasn’t sure if you wanted me to leave, or…”

Silence falls. Mostly her fault, since she pulls herself flush against against him from tangled legs to lips crushed in a graceless kiss, a kiss into which she pours everything that she is, her tangle of emotions his for the keeping. Calloused fingertips whisper across the back of her neck and she sighs happily into his mouth until he pulls away and his grin becomes breathtakingly confident. “Let me guess, I’ve overstayed my welcome?”

“Well, I thought I’d made that clear.” But she’s smiling so widely that her cheeks ache like the rest of her, aching to feel him closer, to draw him in and never leave this tent. She’s not sure that’s a good plan, one of their party is sure to come investigating sooner or later, but she’s willing to give it a shot. Just this once. But all of her thoughts scatter with his warm chuckle and the sweep of his thumb against her smiling lips. She can feel the softening of her smile, tender feelings that she should hide shining right through. And he smiles back, so unapologetically in love that she loses her words and aches to prove that she can love him just as deeply, just as completely.

She doesn’t deserve him, but she wants him nonetheless.

Alistair’s brow wrinkles, so she presses her fingertips against them, as if that act alone could iron them away. “Maybe this isn’t the time, but I just— Look I—” He huffs and she waits quietly, draws her fingers away, wiggles backwards to give him some room, and props herself up on one elbow while his lips search for his words. Of course, the blanket slides down her shoulder and he glances away, and then to her again, distracted, but not enough to forget what he wants to say. “What changed your mind? You said it was too soon and then…” He reddens again, scrubs his hand through his hair awkwardly. “Not that you owe me an answer, I was just wondering.”

“I…no.” She frowns and sighs, “I do owe you an answer. It’s just…” She makes a vague gesture with her free hand. “Complicated. It’s complicated.”

“I’m a little smarter than I look, not by much, but it’s worth a shot.” He smiles as she rolls her eyes.

“It’s the Circle.”

“Because I was going to be a templar.” His voice is hesitant, unsure.

“No! No. It’s not that it’s…”

“It’s what?”

She hesitates, weighing the words for their truth before speaking them. “I… I keep waiting for something to take you away from me.”

His gaze softens from curiosity and he sighs, “Reyna—”

She holds up a hand, flustered but determined to get this out. “In the Circle if you loved someone they used it against you. So you didn’t. I didn’t. Love, that is. Well, I did actually and…” She swallows hard past the lump in her throat, remembering empty beds and vague rumors and the dozens of faces she lost far before abominations ruined the only home she’d known. “We were mages and we were supposed to be hard but I wasn’t.” 

He glances down her body so quickly she almost misses it. “I’m rather fond of you softness, myself.” He coughs and chuckles sheepishly, “I mean, being kind is hardly a bad thing, it’s served us well so far.”

“It makes me afraid of losing you.”

His voice barely disturbs the silence, “We don’t know how this Blight is going to end, Reyna.”

“I know. But I can’t stop myself from caring so,” she smiles crookedly, “You’re stuck with me, if you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll have you?“ He shakes his head before moving in a blur until she’s on her back and he’s propped above her, his gaze both disbelieving and adoring. “I love you. But Maker, you are the most preposterous woman I’ve ever met.”

Reyna frames his face with her hands, slim fingers rasping over the light stubble. “Anyway, I decided that it didn’t matter. I was already in too deep, denying myself wasn’t doing either of us any favors.” She smiles, “You are shockingly charming for a chantry boy, ser. What do those sisters teach you?”

He blushes again, but he smiles regardless, “Ha! Fooled you, have I, I—”

She does love shutting him up. But this time her kiss is gentle, a stark contrast to the roll of her hips and the groan that escapes Alistair, far too loud for anyone outside of their tent to be unaware of what they’re doing. Zevran is sure to remark, Morrigan to scoff, Wynne to shake her head disapprovingly, a bevy of reactions that are sure to flood them once they emerge from this tiny peace they’ve carved for themselves. Not that she cares.

Let them hear, she thinks contentedly to herself, as she takes advantage of Alistair’s distraction to nudge him into flipping their positions. Above him, they laugh quietly together, unashamedly taking this moment for themselves, two wardens putting off the end of the world. But when she lightly drags her nails down his chest he shudders and his mirth is replaced by a heat that makes her shiver.

She doesn’t talk about trysts in dark corners and lovers that disappear overnight. He doesn’t talk about need, about craving touch and affection and warmth and getting nothing but rejection. They don’t talk about the war that might take them or the taint that most certainly will. But for a while longer, at least, they giggle and gasp and find exactly what they need, and none of those things seem to really matter.

**Author's Note:**

> I've written a few (very small) things before, but never posted anything, so we'll see how this goes! I just had the urge to write this moment with my warden and Alistair, I hope you enjoyed it! Leave a comment, constructive criticism is always appreciated. :)


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